


Rendezvous at Edelaar

by Fuhadeza



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuhadeza/pseuds/Fuhadeza
Summary: Resistance pilot Hana Song can barely remember what Edelaar is called. Why should she? It's just the backdrop to her latest mission. When she crash-lands, though, she finds herself taken in by a local mechanic, and the realities of life on the planet are suddenly and irrevocably relevant--because something strange is going on. What is her saviour hiding? Why does it seem like all paths lead to Edelaar? And most importantly--can she still complete her mission?An Overwatch AU in a Star Wars setting! Mekamechanic for the most part, but with a reasonable amount of focus on a bunch of characters. :)





	1. Planetfall

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I was perusing my checklist and, lo and behold, the next thing down after "self-indulgent smut" was "obligatory AU" and I thought, hey, the Star Wars universe is a fantastic setting, and the Overwatch universe is full of fantastic characters, and _wouldn't it be fun to combine those things_ and, well, here we are.
> 
> A few notes. This fic borrows the setting from Star Wars but none of the characters, which is why I'm calling it an AU and not a crossover. If it helps to locate it in the Star Wars timeline, though, I envision it being set some time before The Force Awakens, in the period where the pieces of the Resistance are starting to come together, but the break from the Republic hasn't quite happened yet. (For those of you into Star Wars tie-in novels, that means somewhere between Bloodline and TFA). And while it's set in the new canon, my knowledge of the old expanded universe is way better than of the current one, so forgive me if there are bits and pieces here that technically aren't canon anymore!
> 
> Edelaar is a planet of my invention. Everything else in this fic, unless otherwise mentioned, is from one Star Wars canon or another.
> 
> This could, strictly speaking, be called a slow-burn, in the sense that the romance will take a little while to develop, but I promise not to draw things out just for the sake of drawing things out, 'cause that's annoying.
> 
> Rating reflects chapters to date and may change.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hana flies an X-Wing like a hovercraft & only partially destroys it.

The end, when it came, came quickly.

One moment she was part of the battle, her concentration laser-focused on the pair of fighters she was pursuing, and the next the cockpit alarms were going off, her top left engine had lost power and the bottom left looked eager to follow, and a visual examination revealed that half an s-foil on that side was simply gone. She cut thrust to compensate, but the damage was done: the remaining left-side engine wasn’t enough to counteract the spin her X-Wing had been thrown into, and the view through her cockpit cycled rapidly, planet-stars-planet-stars, and she closed her eyes against the nausea rising inside her.

Bunny’s shrill screaming cut across the alarms. She steeled herself and opened her eyes again. Text scrolled across the interpreter screen: _Shields down. Comms down. Propulsion systems critical. Trajectory out of control._

‘You think?’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Can we eject? And can you cut the goddamn alarms?’

 _Cutting the alarms now,_ the astromech reported, which struck her as an entirely unnecessary message, but then the cockpit was silent and she could finally hear herself think. _Ejecting this close to atmosphere would be unwise for organic lifeforms,_ Bunny said, then added, _I would likely remain operational._

‘Thanks. That makes me feel _much_ better,’ she said, fully aware the sarcasm was standing in for fear. She glanced over her instruments: sensors were still up, and in a minor stroke of luck it appeared that whoever had hit her had also left her for dead. ‘Options?’

_Estimate ten minutes until re-entry. If we make atmosphere, estimate 70% chance of successful landing._

‘70%? Really?’

 _Or crash-landing,_ Bunny amended. _Or successful ejection_.

‘And the odds of making atmosphere?’

_Somewhat lower._

She took several deep breaths. ‘There’s no way I can get us down like this. Can you do something about the spin?’

Bunny’s beeps took on an affronted tone. She hardly needed the interpreter for this one: _Am I an M3 unit? Combined effect of repulsorlifts and remaining engines should reduce spin by 83%._

‘Then _do it_.’

 _Activating repulsorlifts now_ , and a moment later the X-Wing had gained an exciting new dimension of spin, and she swore and closed her eyes again. Then she forced herself to open them again, because the inertial dampeners were still working, and she couldn’t tell if the repulsorlifts were having an effect with her eyes closed. Slowly, slowly, the wild tumble her starfighter was locked in began to correct itself, and within a few minutes it was reduced to a single revolution, mostly in a single axis, every ten or so seconds.

It was the kind of piloting no organic pilot could have pulled off. Not for the first time, she gave thanks to Incom Corporation’s staunch belief in astromechs. ‘Thanks, Bunny.’ Then, over the resulting beeps of indignation: ‘All right, all right. Thanks, _M3-K4_. Better?’

 _Moderately_. _Re-entry in approximately three minutes, fifteen seconds._

For three minutes and fifteen seconds, she was safe. Bunny’s mollified sounds faded away, and suddenly the silence was total. In the far, far distance she saw the occasional flash of light where a turbolaser fired, but otherwise she’d left the battle behind. One moment she’d been there, focused on a tiny patch of space, and the next she was here, the green-white sphere of the planet rising below her.

During the mission briefing, she’d dismissed the planet as a backwater: a small place where people led small lives. She couldn’t even remember its name. During the battle it had seemed like nothing but a painted backdrop, something fixed and motionless and irrelevant. Now, her X-Wing disabled and the bulk of the planet filling her view, she felt quite differently. For the first time in her career as a pilot, Hana Song looked out into space and felt small.

*

 _After the briefing they retire to the pilot ready room and sit in silence, just the three of them: the rest of the squadron had been at the briefing, too, but they knew to give their flight leaders a little space. The_ Athena’s _sublight engines thrum as the cruiser gets under way, and it’s not until they make the jump to hyperspace that the silence is broken._

_‘We knew this was coming,’ Fareeha says, because she is squadron leader and it is her job to say things when no one else will._

_Lena looks up, and Hana can see it in her face: how she wants to come up with some alternative, a way to avoid the task they’ve been set. Then her face twists and she settles for, ‘I didn’t think it would be so soon.’_

_‘You still think there might be some other explanation.’_

_Lena sighs. ‘I do. I keep thinking, and thinking, and it just doesn’t make any bloody_ sense _. Why would he do it?’_

_‘He was always a strange man,’ Fareeha says. ‘Tight-lipped about his private life. Mother—’_

_‘General Amari,’ Lena interrupts. ‘Don’t shoulder any more than you have to, luv, chain of command’s heavy enough without bringing family into it.’_

_Fareeha nods and gives her a small smile. ‘General Amari has shown me the data. There’s no question. Whatever his reasons were, he switched sides.’_

_Hana says nothing, because she never knew the man. She’d joined the Resistance less than a month after his defection. But she has seen the_ Athena’s _weaponry. She has experienced first-hand the upgrades he’d made to their X-Wings’ shields. She understands that he is the sort of man who can win or lose a war single-handedly._

_‘Edelaar,’ Lena says, as if testing the name out. ‘Never heard of the place. What’s on Edelaar?’_

_Hana grunts. This, at least, is a conversation she can contribute to. ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘I looked it up in the database. Total, boring, run-of-the-mill backwater.’ She tries a laugh. ‘You just said its name and I’ve already forgotten what it’s called.’_

_Neither of the others laughs back. ‘Nothing,’ Lena says. ‘Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he’s hiding.’_

_‘Stars help him if he thinks he can hide from Ana Amari.’ Fareeha has an inscrutable look in her eyes, but its very blankness is telling: neither she nor Lena had been particularly_ close _to the man, as far as Hana can tell, but it didn’t matter. He’d fought with them. He’d shared their beliefs. And he’d betrayed them._

_Hana does not have their qualms. She owes the traitor nothing. And if the General is right and he truly is on Edelaar, Hana will not hesitate the pull the trigger._

*

The missing s-foil proved a blessing. As they descended, Hana could feel the drag on that side, trying to pull the X-Wing apart, and with that as a guide she could get the fighter under control, bit by bit, light hand on the stick coaxing tiny bursts of thrust from the battered engines.

The only question was whether she could complete the manoeuvre before they hit the ground.

‘At least we still have inertial dampeners, huh?’ she said through gritted teeth. It was a strange experience: watching the ground rise up towards them, much faster than on a typical descent, she felt like she _ought_ to be pushed up against her restraints, flattened against the cockpit canopy; but the dampeners were doing their job, and all she felt was an increased heaviness as the planet’s gravity began to assert itself.

 _Engine power failing_ , Bunny reported. _Diverting auxiliary power from inertial dampeners._

Almost immediately Hana got her wish, as the g-forces of their descent forced her up into her restraints. She could have laughed, if only she weren’t so intent on not dying.

Half a click from the ground the X-Wing finally levelled out. Hana made a split-second decision: she was still losing altitude, and she was coming in much too fast, but the landscape below was snowy and barren, and she didn’t much fancy trying to survive in it on her own. ‘I’m going to try save the ship,’ she shouted over the whistling of wind outside. ‘Find me,’ she added and then, before Bunny could object, hit the astromech eject. Bunny’s belated shriek of indignation vanished almost instantly.

It was a near run thing. The ground sloped up ahead, and she cut all remaining engines and pointed the X-Wing straight into the hill. A second before impact she pulled up on the stick and activated the repulsorlifts. The X-Wing’s nose went up, and she braced for the collision—but she’d timed it well, and the fighter coasted along the snow, losing speed as if it were sliding across the ground, but with the repulsorlifts providing a crucial cushion of air. When she’d been a girl on Chandrila, she’d once built a rudimentary hovercraft. The principle was the same, and so were the drawbacks: on level ground, a hovercraft could get by just fine on minimal thrust. Uphill, though, it would skid to a stop nearly immediately.

Even so, she nearly ran out of slope. The X-Wing crested the hill and the repulsorlifts, not built for such intense use, gave out and the fighter lost its final struggle with gravity. The moment the X-Wing’s belly hit the snow, it was—quite literally—out of Hana’s hands, and all she could do was hope she’d slowed it down enough. _Don’t flip don’t flip don’t flip—_

The skid seemed to go on forever. In reality it was only a few seconds, and in the utter silence that followed, Hana found herself gasping for breath, as if her pulse was trying to make up for the sudden absence of speed. She gave herself a count of thirty to calm down, then popped the canopy. The X-Wing was tilting to the left, but otherwise it didn’t seem much more damaged than it already had been.  As she slid down one side into crisp, fresh snow, she gave herself a pat on the back. It had been the right decision, not ejecting: there were emergency supplies in the storage compartment. Her odds were much better with the ship than without it.

One of the emergency supplies was a blaster. It wasn’t until she strapped it to her belt that she realised she was bleeding from a wound in her side. After that, she began to realise very quickly indeed and she sat down, hard, heedless of the cold.

Pain replaced adrenaline. Hana grimaced, pressed a hand to her side, but even that motion felt difficult, draining, and she’d need to get the medkit out, but first—first—

Half an hour later she was jolted out of delirious unconsciousness by the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even through the haze of blood loss, her first thought was to go for her blaster, but the handle was slick with blood and her hand slipped. Then someone was leaning over her, and she felt gentle hands examining her, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth, and the last thing she knew before true unconsciousness was the sense of being carried, like a child, and by instinct she wrapped her arms around her saviour and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we introduce the most important aspect of Star Wars canon, namely, that all astromechs are smartasses.
> 
> Who's the traitor, you might ask? Why did he defect? Will Hana get her opportunity to shoot him in the face? In an exciting twist, I actually know the answers to those questions! Find out... eventually!


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hana deploys flirtation as a coping method.

Hana opened her eyes.

It was warm: that was her first though. She was in a bed of some kind, and there was a blanket around her, and a heating element on the wall gave out a constant, glorious warmth. They were a calm few seconds, and then memory asserted itself, and she winced as the pain in her side re-ignited—but colder now, duller, as much a memory as the events that had caused it.

_Assess the situation. Look around. Where are you?_

It was a prefab house of some kind. Small, but comfortable. Modern. She was in a bedroom, barely big enough for the bed and a few clothing compartments, but the little shelves cut into the walls were covered with the detritus of someone’s life, and they made the room feel cosy rather than claustrophobic.

_Someone’s life_. Hana became aware of the noises in the adjacent room just as they ceased, and a moment later her rescuer appeared in the doorway.

‘How are you feeling?’

The first thing Hana noticed was that her arms were bare. What kind of person walked around with bare arms in the snow? The second thing she noticed was her face, the open, kind expression of someone who’d just saved a complete stranger, and instantly Hana’s guard went up. The circumstances were too complex for such a simple act of kindness to be taken at face value.

Hana went with the first of two questions. ‘Who—’ She coughed, cleared her throat, and accepted a glass of water from the other woman. After she’d washed the worst of the dryness out of her mouth she tried again. ‘Who are you?’

‘Questions in a minute,’ the woman said, sitting at the foot of the bed. ‘First I need to know if you’re allergic to bacta.’

Hana narrowed her eyes. ‘Why? You got a bacta tank to dunk me in? I’d rather you just shot me again.’

The woman’s lips rose in a half-smile. Hana hadn’t expected that. Bacta was sufficiently revered for its medical properties that most people overlooked its less pleasant characteristics. ‘No one shot you the first time,’ she said. ‘It was shrapnel. Probably from the damaged s-foil. And to answer your question, no. The nearest bacta tank is on the other side of the planet. But there’s a patch on your wound, and if you’re allergic I need to get it off right now.’

‘I’m not allergic,’ Hana said, but her mind was whirling with implications: she’d mentioned the s-foil. Of course she’d seen the X-Wing. What did that mean? The Republic had an exclusive contract on the newest models, the T-85s, but Hana didn’t fly those, not any more. The older models—the T-70s—they were in mass production. There was nothing on the ship that definitively identified it as a Resistance fighter. _Right?_

‘Good.’ The woman relaxed. ‘My name is Brigitte. I guess you want the where and the what?’

Hana nodded. There was something familiar about Brigitte’s accent, but try as she might she couldn’t place it.

‘Well. A day ago, I saw your X-Wing come down. I went to investigate.’ Brigitte paused. ‘I’ll be honest. I didn’t think I’d find anyone alive. I don’t know how you managed to get it under control. Why didn’t you eject?’

Hana ignored the question. ‘So, what, you’re a salvager?’

‘I’m a mechanic. But I work with limited resources. So, yes, I guess I’m a salvager.’

‘And you thought I was worth salvaging.’

Brigitte laughed softly. ‘Something like that. I was hardly about to leave you there.’

There it was, that simple good-heartedness again, but surely, _surely_ she was curious—had she seen the battle, up above? Did she know who’d contested it, who’d won? Which side was she on? Hana closed her eyes and tried to focus on what was right in front of her. ‘And, wait, you _carried_ me here? On your own?’

‘I carried you down the hill to my speeder.’ Brigitte flexed one of her arms, briefly, not in boast but in demonstration, and Hana couldn’t help but admire the casual strength of her muscles. ‘You don’t weigh much. There are parts in my workshop twice your weight.’

‘I’d give up on sleeves, too, if I had your arms,’ Hana said, automatically, because it was the sort of thing she’d say to Fareeha, and then Fareeha would make fun of her for being the shortest of the pilots, and then they’d—but Fareeha wasn’t here. She took a careful breath. _Keep it together, Hana. This could be going a lot worse_. _You’re alive_. Brigitte was giving her an odd look. Hana raised her eyebrows. She always stood behind her words, even the ones she blurted out without thinking.

‘Maybe you ought to put some clothes on yourself before you cast judgement.’

_Huh._ She definitely hadn’t expected _that_ —and that was when Hana noticed her outer flightsuit, the bright orange one the Resistance insisted on, in a pile on the floor, and next to it her inner, skintight flightsuit, ripped and bloodstained along one side, all of which meant that—

‘Sorry. I had to take your clothes off to clean the wound.’ Brigitte’s eyes flicked to the miserable mess of Hana’s clothing. ‘I can lend you something, if you like. Something besides the shirt, I mean.’

Hana was wearing nothing but her underwear and a shirt, a few sizes too large, and it felt enough like what she normally slept in that she hadn’t even recognised how incongruous it was. She tried to muster the energy to feel embarrassed, but what was the point? Brigitte had saved her life. The situation had gone somewhat beyond normal standards of modesty.

‘Fine. So that was the “what”. How about the “where”?’

‘Do you know what planet you’re on?’

Hana groaned. ‘Yes. No. Some place so generic I’ve forgotten its name half a dozen times in two days.’ It occurred to her, too late, that Brigitte might be _from_ the planet and could, in theory, take offence, though how anyone could fail to notice they lived on a boring planet was beyond her.

If she was offended, Brigitte didn’t show it. ‘That’s a fair assessment. The planet is called Edelaar. I’d tell you more than that, but frankly, the only settlements big enough to have names are all on the far side.’ She smiled that half-smile again. ‘With the bacta tanks.’

‘So, what, you’re some kind of weird hermit?’

Brigitte’s smiled turned into a laugh. ‘No. There’s a settlement not too far away. No name, though.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You might describe it as sub-legal.’

‘Really? I have to say, you don’t strike me as the pirate type.’ Hana squinted at Brigitte. ‘Smuggler? Petty thief?’

Brigitte snorted. ‘And you don’t strike me as the hotshot pilot type. Aren’t you a little short?’

‘Hey!’ Hana got enough of that from her squadmates. She was _not_ going to take it from someone she’d barely met. ‘Short people have better reflexes. It’s why Dugs make such good pilots.’

‘Is that a fact?’

Hana glared at her. ‘It is.’ She paused. ‘Does that mean you _are_ a pirate?’

‘No. I’m just a mechanic.’ Brigitte hesitated. ‘But everyone else who lives around here? I can’t guarantee that _they’re_ not pirates.’

And as much as their banter had kept Hana’s nerves under control, that drove them flooding back. She didn’t know exactly what had gone wrong, up in orbit. All she knew was that someone had set them up, and the fighters they’d been flying against had had the distinct ragtag quality of a pirate squadron. As much as her instincts rejected the idea that a planet as seemingly insignificant as Edelaar could support a pirate base large enough to challenge the _Athena_ , it would be sheer stupidity to walk into what Brigitte had described as an outlaw settlement and assume the two were unrelated.

Hana had made an error: she’d relaxed. But she had to assume she was in hostile territory, and any kind of relaxation could be deadly. There was a settlement nearby. That was her mission. Get to it, infiltrate it, find a way off Edelaar for good. ‘One more thing,’ she said, meeting Brigitte’s gaze.

Brigitte must have registered the change in her mood. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘It’s going to take you at least three days to recover. Maybe another two before you can walk without a limp. I know that there are… questions. And there are people in town who would be very interested to ask you those questions, whichever side you were on. But I don’t care. You can stay here, if you like, and I swear I won’t tell anyone about you until you’re better. You understand?’

Hana understood that she was injured, and weak, and as much as she hated to admit it to herself, a few days devoted to recuperation without the constant stress of being discovered would do her good. More importantly, she understood that she was in no position to refuse. She had no idea what Brigitte had done with her blaster, and she was under no illusions about her ability to overpower the other woman manually. ‘I understand,’ she said.

‘Good. Let me get you some food, then, and something to wear, and we can go from there.’

Brigitte’s smile was just as open, just as genuine as it had ever been. But Hana had seen her guard drop. She’d seen the way Brigitte’s face had twisted when she’d said she didn’t care what side Hana was on. It was wearying, almost, that Hana had been right: just once, it would have been nice to think that someone’s motives were something less than ulterior.

But she _had_ been right, and Brigitte was hiding something, and Hana had five days to find out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days! This is exciting. Let's see how long I can keep it up. :p


	3. Interlude: Brigitte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brigitte runs away from home, sort of.

Reinhardt finds her at the shuttleport. She’s early—the next shuttle for Coronet City doesn’t leave for another hour—but it’s difficult to throw off ingrained habits, and she’d left home with plenty of time to spare: plenty of time for Reinhardt to notice her absence and guess where she’d gone.

Next time she’ll be more careful. For now, Brigitte squares her shoulders and prepares for the inevitable argument.

Instead Reinhardt sits next to her. The shuttleport is large, airy, and the early morning sun strikes sparks off its glass ceiling. Behind her the soft hum of shuttles arriving and departing mingles with the buzz of conversation. It’s a calm morning—not the sort of day that portends upheaval.

‘Do you know how to find him?’

It’s not the question she expects. ‘Yes. Get offplanet, send a message, wait for the reply. It’ll tell me where to go.’

Reinhardt nods. ‘Your mother told you. But why bother sneaking? It’s not in your nature.’

‘I thought you’d try and talk me out of it.’

Reinhardt laughs, the loud, hearty laugh that she’s known nearly as long as she’s been alive. ‘Your father told me to keep you safe, Brigitte, not to keep you prisoner! You’re an adult. We all knew the time would come.’

She glances at him. ‘You did?’

‘Of course! Why did you think I spent so much time training you? That’s how I’ll keep you safe. I wish I had something concrete to give you, but I don’t think any of my old gear would fit.’

Brigitte mulls that over. ‘And you—you know why I have to go?’

Reinhardt takes one of her hands in his much larger one. ‘I do,’ he says, as softly as he ever says anything. ‘I remember the Empire, same as your father does. I remember what Corellia was like. The factories. The shipyards. The scrutiny.’

‘He thinks it’s his fault, you know?’ Brigitte blinks away sudden tears. ‘The Empire taught him. Made use of him. But he was just a kid.’

And of course Reinhardt knows these things, because he’s the one who’d passed them on to her. Her father never talks about his youth. He covers it up with warmth and jocularity, and for decades it works: for decades he puts his past behind him.

And then come the first whisperings of something new, but old. Something with the strength of the old shipyard consortia behind it, Sienar and Kuat and all the others who’d designed and built the Empire’s weapons of war. And Brigitte sees the look in her father’s eyes when he hears the name _First Order_.

‘Torbjörn swore an oath, the day the Emperor died,’ Reinhardt says, and Brigitte jolts out of her reverie. ‘He swore he’d never let something like the Empire exist again!’ He claps a hand on Brigitte’s shoulder, and his voice does its best to shake off the seriousness. ‘Would that I could go with you! Torbjörn and Reinhardt, defenders of the galaxy! It would be like old times.’ He grins, and the expression pulls at the scar across his face. ‘But I am old, Brigitte, and unlike your father my abilities have not improved with age.’

His good cheer is infectious. Brigitte smiles back. ‘You sure you’re not selling yourself short?’

Reinhardt waves a hand. ‘Bah! Even if I was, someone needs to look after your siblings. It’s a two-person job, you know. If anyone comes calling, I’ll make sure the little ones leave your mother alone long enough for her to shoot the intruder.’ The mental image is so ridiculous it almost makes Brigitte giggle. ‘So,’ he continues, very seriously, ‘it’s up to you to do it for me. Take what I’ve taught you, find your father, and make sure he’s not in over his head. Are we agreed?’

Brigitte takes his offered hand. Then she stands, pulls him up with her, and throws her arms around him. ‘We’re agreed.’

Watching him go, Brigitte wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. Reinhardt is like a second father to her. But her first father is out there, somewhere, and he needs her more than Reinhardt ever has.

*

Brigitte books a berth on the first ship out of Coronet City—a battered old YT-series freighter, barely space-worthy, but just about capable of the intrasystem trip to Selonia. She doesn’t know how much difference it makes, really, but if her message is traced, better it not be traced all the way back to Corellia.

She pays for a link to the local hyperspace relay. Then she pays again, under the table, to guarantee a private connection. Only then does she take her seat in the communications booth and record her message.

The content of the message isn’t important—the mere act of sending it is sufficient. Still, she gives it some thought. In the end she settles on the simple truth. ‘Papa,’ she says into the transmitter. ‘I’m coming.’

A week later the reply reaches her in the small room she’s rented near Selonia’s principle spaceport. The Resistance has not forgotten the lessons of the Rebel Alliance. They are careful, even on a secure connection, and the message doesn’t tell her where to find them. There are two names, though, a planet and a person, and between them she understands what she has to do next.

The next day she goes to the spaceport and starts the search for a ship headed to the Outer Rim planet of Edelaar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more of these little interludes later! We gotta explain why everyone is in the same place, after all.
> 
> Let's talk homeworlds real quick. The Lindholms are from Corellia, 'cause I wanted it to be one of the shipbuilding planets, and they're obviously not Mandalorians... which leaves Kuat, Fondor, and Mon Calamari, none of which have a ton of lore. So Corellia it is! (This is one of the strongest rationales I have. Just wait until you find out why Hana is from Chandrila in the next chapter.)
> 
> On another note, pro-tip for writing Reinhardt: once you're done with his dialogue, go back and double the number of exclamation marks.


	4. Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bunny gets stuck in a tree and Hana makes an important discovery.

When Hana woke the next day it was with a clear head. It wasn’t that she’d been muddled, before, exactly—but the situation had conspired with her injury to put her on the back foot, make her reactive rather than proactive. Now, with the bright, cold sun shining in through the bedroom’s little window, she was ready to plan. The wound in her side still hurt, and as she swung herself over the side of the bed she could tell she’d be stiff for days yet, but the bacta patch was doing its job: the pain was manageable, something she could sequester in a corner of her mind without impeding her ability to function.

The room was empty. She stood up, carefully, testing her footing, then slipped on the clothes Brigitte had laid out for her the night before. So armoured against the world, she stepped into the living area.

They’d not spoken much more the previous day. Hana had eaten the food she’d been offered, mechanically, and then the effort of moving around had sent her straight back to bed. Except for that one flash of—whatever it had been—Brigitte had been unfailingly polite the whole time, kind and measured, even as the pain had driven Hana to irritation.

Now, though—now there was something else. Brigitte sat by the kitchen unit, a glass of some light blue liquid in one hand, staring down at the featureless table in front of her. Hana stopped in the doorway, suddenly awkward. In her head she’d started to think of Brigitte as an enemy: someone who, unwittingly or not, stood between her and her goals. But she didn’t look like an enemy, not like this. There was no cunning, no hostility, none of the emotions Hana had expected to catch her in. Instead she looked weary, like a wrung-out rag.

‘Are you all right?’

Brigitte started, looking up, and her expression shifted so quickly Hana could almost believe she’d imagined that bone-deep exhaustion.

‘Sorry,’ Hana said, pulling out the other seat at the table and sitting down. ‘Didn't mean to startle you.’

‘Don't worry about it,’ Brigitte said, a touch too cheerfully. ‘How are you feeling? Sleep well?’

Hana rolled her shoulders. ‘Better. You didn't have to sleep on the floor, you know.’

‘Now I know you're definitely a pilot,’ Brigitte said, smiling. ‘Only pilots have such a blatant disregard for their own health. Between the two of us, I’d rather sleep on the floor than have a hole in my side.’

That wasn’t how Hana had meant it. But then, she’d spent her teenage years between planets, in the tiny, cramped living quarters of half a dozen different freighters. Sharing a bed was no different to her than sharing a table. ‘The X-Wing going down in a blaze of glory didn't tip you off?’

‘It wasn’t exactly a _blaze_.’

‘I'm _so_ sorry. Next time I'll endeavour to blow more random bits off my ship before crashing it into the side of a hill. Maybe get a nice bonfire going.’

‘Crash- _landing_ ,’ Brigitte corrected. ‘Take credit where it’s due.’

Hana opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. What was she doing? Just because Brigitte was easy to talk to didn't make her a _friend._ Hana had to remember that. ‘I need you to help me with something,’ she said, and the words sounded oddly stiff to her ears.

‘Something other than saving your life?’

‘Yes,’ Hana snapped, then winced. It was like being pulled in two directions, gratitude and suspicion at once, and she was finding it hard to tell which would surface each time she opened her mouth.

Brigitte’s playful smile dropped, but if she was otherwise offended it didn’t show. ‘What do you need?’

‘My astromech. I ejected her right before I came down.’

‘I did notice the astromech socket was empty.’ Brigitte frowned. ‘Why eject her in the first place?’

‘Standard procedure,’ Hana said, then immediately second-guessed herself. Would a band of pirates have standardised procedures? Was she giving away too much? _I’m a_ pilot, she thought, _not a kriffing intelligence agent_. ‘So, can you help?’

‘Maybe. Depends.’

Hana waited a few seconds, but Brigitte wasn’t any more forthcoming. ‘ _Will_ you help?’

The little twitch of her lips again, as if trying to convey that she wasn’t _trying_ to be difficult. ‘Maybe. Why do you want her?’

Bunny would be very useful. There was a spare blaster hidden in one of her storage compartments, for a start, and she was a halfway competent slicer. ‘She’s my friend,’ Hana said at last, ‘and I told her to come find me. I’m worried. I thought she’d have made it by now.’

Brigitte straightened. ‘Come find you? How?’

Hana couldn’t tell if her answer had passed muster, or if it was the prospect of a mechanical challenge that had brought about the change in Brigitte’s demeanour. ‘There’s a beacon in my flight suit. She should be able to track it.’

‘How? Twinned beacons?’ Brigitte said, and she was talking again almost before Hana could nod: ‘The beacon in your suit—I assume it can’t receive?’

‘No. The receiving equipment is in the X-Wing. They tried integrating it into the suit one time, but it was too unwieldy.’ Hana winced, remembering the back pain lugging a communications suite around had caused.

‘So, either we get to your fighter and hope the equipment still works…’

Hana cleared her throat. ‘I was hoping for an alternative.’

‘Well then.’ Brigitte grinned. ‘You’re in luck.’

*

Brigitte explained what she was doing as she worked, but Hana could only follow the bare basics—there was a reason she _flew_ the ships instead of _fixing_ them.

‘I don’t think you’re quite appreciating what a feat of reverse engineering this is,’ Brigitte said, the third time Hana casually asked how much longer it would take.

‘Aren’t twinned beacons, like, _made_ to find each other? I figured it would be easy.’

Brigitte was staring intently at the transmitter on her workbench, working her tools in movements so minute Hana could barely see them. The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear that she’d have rolled her eyes if it wouldn’t have gotten in the way of her work. ‘The fact they’re twinned makes it _possible_. It doesn’t make it easy.’

‘All right! Fine. I won’t ask—’

‘But, as it happens, I’m just about done.’ Brigitte sat up, wiped the sweat off her brow, and removed the utility goggles she’d been wearing. ‘There. Hooked it up to a basic locator. Should point the way well enough.’

Watching Brigitte work had been a revelation: the quiet tension had dropped away, leaving nothing but the obvious joy she found in her work. It was the sort of difference Hana wouldn’t have normally noticed, but she’d been obsessing over Brigitte all day, over-analysing every fact. It was so tempting to trust her.

‘So you’ll help me find Bunny?’

Brigitte gave her a puzzled look. ‘Of course. What, did you think this was all just for show?’

 _No,_ Hana thought, _but it occurred to me you might try to help someone_ else _find her_. ‘Well, no time like the present,’ she said instead.

The winter clothing Brigitte made her wear was too big, but Hana was grateful all the same when she stepped out of the prefab. It was odd, the way you could spend days inside without giving it any thought, only to have it all pressed home the moment you stepped outside: the cold air washing over you, looking for a way in, the rustle of the trees creaking ominously beneath their snowy burdens.

Brigitte was already in the speeder. Hana shook her head to dislodge the cold and followed. The speeder was a small, battered affair, bizarrely ill-suited to the rough terrain, but seeing Brigitte in the driver’s seat triggered a pang of jealousy just the same.

Hana belted herself in and examined Brigitte’s locator device. ‘How far?’

‘Hard to say.’ The hum of the repulsorlifts starting up send a shiver down Hana’s spine. The last time she’d heard that noise, she’d been far too close to a fiery death. ‘You remember anything from the air? Any landmarks?’

‘There were trees below us, I think.’

‘That helps.’ Brigitte was a cautious driver, pushing the speeder nowhere near its maximum speed, but even so they hit the tree-line a few seconds later and emerged onto open snow. ‘It’s about ten clicks across the snow-field. Then there’s more forest. We’ll find her in there is my guess.’ She was silent for several seconds. Then, ‘You really named your astromech “Bunny”?’

‘Yeah.’ Hana glanced at her. ‘Why?’

‘Doesn’t seem very fearsome.’

Hana snorted. ‘Obviously you’ve never seen the rabbits they have on Neimoidia.’ She paused. ‘She hates it, though. Only astromech I know who prefers her model number.’

‘And yet you call her “Bunny” anyway.’

The snow stretched, featureless, in every direction. It made the conversation easy—made it into a bubble where Hana could pretend things were other than they were. ‘She’s not the only one unimpressed with her name.’

Brigitte glanced at her and said, softly: ‘What _is_ your name?’

Hana frowned. Surely she’d said it, at some point? But no: she’d been so out of it, she’d entirely forgotten, and Brigitte had never asked. She considered, briefly, offering a false name, but that was more trouble than it was worth. There wasn’t much risk in giving up her first name. ‘Hana,’ she said. ‘And you could have asked earlier.’

Brigitte laughed. ‘I said no questions, remember?’ She tapped gloved fingers on the wheel. ‘What’s wrong with “Hana”?’

‘Nothing in particular. But I was born on Chandrila.’

It took Brigitte a moment to work through the implication. ‘All right, so you’re named after the capital city. So what?’

‘I’m not! That’s the problem. I have one N. Hanna City has two. It’s _infuriating_. Do you see?’

‘Not really.’

Hana threw herself back in her seat. ‘Never mind.’

A few seconds later, Brigitte said, ‘I wouldn’t have guessed you were from Chandrila. You’re not… I don’t know. Your accent isn’t, you know…’

‘Like hers?’

‘Yes.’

Hana bristled. ‘There’s more to the planet than politicians, you know.’

Brigitte shot her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. It’s just, when someone is Chancellor as long as she was…’

Hana raised her hands. ‘I get it. You don’t have to apologise. Most of the galaxy has only ever heard of one Chandrilan. I’m used to it.’

‘Well, now I’ve heard of two,’ Brigitte said, and against her better judgement Hana smiled.

They heard Bunny long before they saw her. She’d come down in an especially thick patch of trees about a kilometre in from the snowfields, and her chute had tangled in the treetops. It made for an absurd tableau: the quiet forest pierced by the bright pink of Bunny’s paint, sparks flying where she was trying and failing to slice through the cables suspending her in mid-air.

Brigitte brought the speeder to a halt next to the tree. ‘That’s something you don’t see every day.’

‘Can you get her down?’

‘I think so. The chute release must be stuck, but I have a vibrosaw in the back. It should be able to cut through that cable.’ The tricky part was getting up high enough. Brigitte brought the speeder up as high as it would go, then climbed onto the hood right below Bunny. ‘You might want to get out of the way. Just in case.’

Hana did as she was told. The tree was old and thick and gnarly, and she moved around to its other side, out of sight, where she could sit on a patch of snow-free ground and lean against its trunk.

That made all the difference. Brigitte was nearly done—she could tell by Bunny’s increasingly excited warbling—when there came the _crack_ of a branch snapping beneath the snow, and Hana froze. It was like she was back in the crashed X-Wing, the uncertainty of _friend or foe_ causing her heart to pound so hard it seemed it would burst right out of her chest—

The newcomer was so close, on the other side of the tree, it was like listening to a conversation between people at the same table.

‘Well, well, well. Boss’ll be mighty interested in what you’re doing all the way out here.’

Brigitte’s voice was perfectly level. ‘Not as much as she’ll want to hear about _you_ meddling in my business.’

‘Astromech is her salvage. Direct order.’

‘I got here first,’ Brigitte said, and Hana couldn’t just sit there any longer. She had no blaster, no vibroblade, nothing remotely resembling a weapon, but Brigitte was in danger because of her, and suspicions or no suspicions, that wasn’t something she was prepared to have on her conscience. Carefully, silently, she began to inch around the tree.

‘Don’t play games with me, Lindholm. What’re you up to?’

Several things happened at once. Hana stumbled, falling headfirst into the snow, and when she looked up there was a Weequay staring back at her, leathery skin furrowed in confusion, but even as Hana watched, realisation spread across his face, and he went for the blaster at his hip—

Brigitte shot him. Three times, because Weequay skin was notoriously resistant to blaster bolts. The man collapsed, three neat circles burned into his back.

Hana wasn’t looking at the body, though. She was looking at Brigitte, hoping her disbelief wasn’t showing on her face. There was, after all, only so far she was willing to take coincidence, and it didn’t take an intelligence agent to put the pieces together.

Hana had been sent to Edelaar to find Torbjörn Lindholm, and she was all but certain that the woman who’d just saved her life was the traitor’s daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap!
> 
> True fact: I had an idea where Hana was from _before_ I discovered that the capital was called Hanna City, and that just confirmed it. The Star Wars character that I was at pains not to actually name, meanwhile, is of course Mon Mothma.


	5. Interlude: Fareeha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fareeha finds her mother even more frustrating than Hana.

‘Commander Morrison has a new recruit for us,’ her mother says, and Fareeha has to clench her teeth together to prevent an outburst. They’re in Ana’s private quarters, and Fareeha had thought this summons, finally, would be the day—the day they acknowledged what Torbjörn had done to them. Not to the Resistance—those plans had been made within days of his defection. To _them_ , personally.

But she is Commander Amari, and her mother isn’t just her mother but her commanding officer, and Fareeha accepts the datapad General Amari is offering her and skims the profile therein. Then she groans. ‘Her callsign is _Diva_?’

The general raises her eyebrows. ‘Is that an issue?’

‘Only insofar as inflated egos get pilots killed.’

‘Perhaps she chose it ironically.’

‘“Dismissed from duty for insubordination”,’ Fareeha reads from the screen in front of her. ‘”Shows a general inability to function as part of a team.”’ She meets her mother’s eyes. ‘But yes. I’m sure it was irony.’

‘Spare me your sarcasm, Fareeha,’ Ana says, and for a moment they are mother and daughter. ‘That is only half the story.’

‘And the other half?’

‘Lieutenant Song and her wingmate were assigned escort duty for a Senatorial party to Ryloth. They were attacked right out of hyperspace. Twi’lek nationalists is the official story and as far as I can tell it’s even true. A full squadron against two fighters.’

‘Let me guess. She thought she could take them all.’

‘In a sense. The civilian ship got away and rendezvoused with reinforcements from the planet surface. Song was ordered to retreat. But her wingmate’s X-Wing had been disabled in the skirmish, and Song refused to leave her. She shot down four hostiles, opened a link to the squadron from Ryloth, and shamed them into helping her.’ Ana snorts. ‘ _They_ got away with a rap across the knuckles. She got kicked out of the Republic Navy. That’s politics for you.’

‘And the wingmate?’

‘Made it out in one piece. Count your blessings, Commander. _Her_ they call Demon. There are worse things than divas in the galaxy.’

Fareeha frowns. ‘All right. So she’s loyal.’

‘Morrison called her the best pilot he’s ever seen.’

‘Lena’ll have something to say about that,’ Fareeha says absentmindedly. She taps her fingers against the back of the datapad in an even rhythm. ‘Loyal, talented, and disinclined to follow orders when they don’t suit her. Does that sum it up?’

‘You missed the best part. Check the note at the end.’

Fareeha scrolls through to the end of the file. There were a few more lines of text, clearly added after the fact and meant for her mother’s eyes only: “She reminds me of you at that age. -J”

When Fareeha looks up again Ana has a bittersweet smile on her lips. ‘I wouldn’t wish myself on any squadron leader. But I have faith in you, Fareeha. You’ll find a way to make it work. Make _her_ work. We are not in a position to refuse new recruits. Especially not ones with her training.’

Fareeha’s mouth tightens. From a different officer, the words might have been flattery, but she knows her mother. Ana Amari _means_ it, and that is somehow even worse, another measure added to the weight of expectation she has borne nearly her whole life. ‘Thank you, sir. If that will be all?’

And she can see her mother acknowledge the rebuke in the way her shoulders slump, just for a moment. ‘That will be all, Commander.’

Fareeha salutes and makes for the door. Her hand is halfway to the control when Ana’s voice stops her, and it is distinctly her mother speaking and not the general: ‘Soon, Fareeha. But not yet. I need time.’

Fareeha nods and leaves.

*

‘You know, you don’t have to wait for her,’ Angela says, later, over a glass of Corellian whiskey. ‘You’re allowed to process your own feelings.’

Fareeha sighs. ‘I know. But it’s all so tied up in her, isn’t it? He was her friend first.’ She snorts. ‘It’s pathetic. I left because I had to get out of her shadow, and now here I am again, waiting on her to be ready to talk about her kriffing feelings.’

‘You did, though. Get out of her shadow.’

‘Did I?’

Angela smiles. ‘I remember you as a teenager. You were trying to rebel and please your mother all at once.’

Fareeha winces. ‘I still don’t know how you all put up with me.’

‘We didn’t,’ Angela says, and Fareeha punches her shoulder, lightly. ‘But that’s just the thing. It’s different, now. _Ana_ is the one trying to please _you_.’

Fareeha takes a swig of her drink, closes her eyes to savour the burn. ‘I still feel guilty sometimes. It feels like I left, and you all got on with things, and I missed out on something. I wasn’t even here when the task force became the Resistance. I thought she was _dead_ for months before the message found me.’

‘ _You_ felt guilty about that? You should have seen her!’ Angela frowns thoughtfully. ‘Two people, eaten by guilt over the same incident. If that’s not a metaphor for an adult relationship I don’t know what is.’

‘It’s a good thing you’re not that kind of doctor. You call that counselling?’

‘I take offence to that, Fareeha. I considered a career in counselling, I’ll have you know.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. For the length of one seminar, as I recall. I was a very impressionable young medical student.’

Fareeha laughs. ‘So, if I follow, you’re saying that I have successfully escaped my mother’s shadow because we now _both_ feel bad about our relationship.’

‘Precisely. And, if I may meddle, that wouldn’t be the case if you didn’t both care, too. One day you’ll both feel good about your relationship. I have faith in you.’

Where Ana’s faith had been a burden, Angela’s feels buoyant. ‘Thanks. That’s… well, it helps.’

‘One more thing, if you don’t mind… ?’ Angela trails off, then continues when Fareeha waves her on: ‘I was here when Gabriel and the others left, and that… That had been coming, and it still took her _months_ to come to terms with. This? This was out of the blue. And now she’s the last one left. When she says she needs time, I think it’s nothing but the truth.’

And Fareeha sighs, raises her drink, and says, ‘To the truth.’

*

‘So this is the consolation prize.’

Fareeha resists the urge to match Lena’s eye roll. They’re sitting at one end of the table in the briefing room. Hana Song is at the other. She has her feet up on the table. ‘Do you know where we came from, Lieutenant Song? This taskforce, I mean? The _Athena_?’

Song shakes her head. She looks bored.

‘After the Empire fell, the Republic tasked part of its new fleet with patrolling the galaxy. Hunting down those remnants of the old imperial order who weren’t willing to fall into line. Make sure the Empire would disappear for good.’ It’s the speech she gives every new recruit, but this time it seems more relevant, as if the words are meant for someone else, too, someone who isn’t even in the room. ‘And for nearly two decades, it did. General Amari was there right from the start. Ask her about it some time. Or don’t.’ Fareeha fixes Song with a stare. ‘Because politics forgets. Politics changes. And people stopped talking about the atrocities and started talking about the things the Empire did _well_. And meanwhile those atrocities kept happening, but this time they were far away and the Republic was willing to let them go. So they took that task force apart. Disbanded it.’

‘We are not the consolation prize. The Republic Navy? The endless escort duty? Ceremonial flybys? _That_ was the consolation prize. We are what’s left of the real deal. We remember. And we keep fighting, because what’s _just_ shouldn’t depend on the winds of politics.’ Fareeha raises her eyebrows. ‘You were sent here because someone thought you’d understand that. I hope he was right, because we need people who can fly like you can. So, tell me, Lieutenant Song. What’ll it be?’

She doesn’t have her yet, she can see that much. But it was always going to take more than one speech, and she can see the look in Song’s eyes, the discomfort of an idea planted. Her callsign was well-chosen, Fareeha thinks, but from time to time even divas can admit when they are wrong.

It isn’t Lieutenant Song she’s worried about. Fareeha glances up, just once, as if she can see through the layers of bulkheads to her mother’s quarters, but there’s nothing there but opaque metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, callsigns are much more BSG than Star Wars, but there's _some_ precedent, so shhhhh. Furthermore no one can convince me that Hana _wouldn't_ have her feet all over every conference table she's ever sat at.
> 
> Anyway I guess I'll try for a chapter every two days now! I'm still impressed I managed once a day for four whole days tbh. Hope you enjoyed this one despite the delay. :)


	6. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hana decides to give trust a chance.

‘You _killed_ him.’

‘Yes.’ Brigitte’s voice was tight. Her blaster was still in her hand, still raised, and Hana took a cautious step to the side. Brigitte blinked rapidly and holstered it. ‘We should leave.’

‘But—’

‘Later,’ Brigitte snapped. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I’m—I’m sorry. But we need to leave. Can we—’ She swallowed. ‘Can we discuss this later?’

And Hana found herself agreeing, because if Brigitte was faking the strain in her voice, she was an actress worthy of a greater audience than one Resistance pilot and her astromech.

Hana tried to put her thoughts in order as she watched Brigitte manoeuvre Bunny the rest of the way down and lift her into the back seat of the landspeeder. The astromech was being uncharacteristically quiet, as if she could tell something important was going on, and perhaps she could. How much information did astromech databases contain? Did Bunny know the significance of the name “Lindholm”? Hana wasn’t sure. Part of her wanted to scream and yell, throw accusations she couldn’t take back: but that would only be giving her cards away. Did Brigitte realise what the Weequay had let slip?

‘If he found us, that means he found your X-Wing, and that means someone else can use it to track us.’ It was the first thing either of them had said in some time. Hana shook her head, willed her beating heart to slow, and set aside the sense of betrayal threatening to sneak up on her. There would be time for that later. ‘Can Bun—’ Brigitte caught herself just in time, and Hana couldn’t help but smile. ‘I mean, can M3-K4 disable the homing beacon herself? I can do it, but it would take time.’

Bunny warbled a question. ‘Go ahead,’ Hana said. ‘I trust her more than I trust the pirates.’ Bunny whistled acknowledgement, and a moment later the locator device Hana had left on the front seat of the speeder went dark.

‘She’s right,’ Brigitte said. ‘That’s _not_ saying very much. But I’ll work with what I can get.’

Hana cast an irritated glance in her direction as she got back into the speeder. ‘You can understand astromechs?’

‘Of course I can.’ Brigitte brought the speeder back down to cruising altitude, and a moment later they were under way. ‘Mechanic, remember? I swear, pilots think they’re the only people in the galaxy who can understand their droids.’

Hana grunted and said nothing, even once the satisfied smile on Brigitte’s face made it clear she was under the impression she’d won that particular exchange.

Fifteen minutes later, back in the middle of the endless expanse of snow, Hana said, ‘Why did you shoot him?’

Brigitte’s fingers had been idly drumming on the wheel. Now they stilled. ‘He was going to shoot _you._ ’

‘How do you know? How do you know he wasn’t a friend of mine?’

‘He went for his blaster. I know the Deadlocks, Hana. He would have shot you and only thought about taking you in had you happened to survive.’

A little of the anonymity Hana had been counting on fell away. It wasn’t that she’d really expected Brigitte to think she was one of the local pirates—but it had been a comforting fiction to imagine she might. ‘But _why_? Why save my life at all? For all you know, I’m the enemy.’

And Brigitte said, very softly, ‘You could never be more the enemy than the rest of this planet.’

Hana frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Never mind.’ Brigitte shook herself, as if trying to dislodge the words, and the speeder wobbled alarmingly.

‘No, tell me.’

Brigitte sighed. ‘If I don’t tell you, will you leave it alone?’

Hana thought of who Brigitte’s father was, and her voice hardened. ‘Not likely. Like Bunny said. It’s not saying very much.’

Brigitte swerved to the right then, and Hana didn’t know if she’d genuinely drifted off course or if it was just the desire to _do_ something. That was a desire Hana understood all too well: it wasn’t often she sat in the passenger seat, and the lack of control was beginning to get to her.

Just when she thought Brigitte would refuse to answer, the other woman said, ‘I can’t tell you everything.’

‘Fine.’

A few more seconds of silence. ‘Neither of us are in this situation of our own free will,’ Brigitte said eventually. ‘And given the choice, I’d rather throw my lot in with a fellow prisoner. Especially when the alternative are people who keep me here while pretending I’m one of them. I don’t know who you are, Hana. I won’t pretend that I haven’t wondered. I have a guess. But I meant it when I said no questions. And at least there’s _honesty_ in not knowing who you are. But I know that you want off this planet. And so do I.’ She paused. ‘Will that do?’

And Hana realised something, then: Brigitte wasn’t acting. She had no reason to think her father’s name meant anything to Hana. Whatever she was doing on Edelaar—whatever ill will she might have born had she known she was talking to Lieutenant Song, pilot of the Resistance—Hana truly did not think Brigitte meant _her_ , individually, any harm.

And so she took a risk. A tiny one, because it was no more than Brigitte had already guessed, but a risk nonetheless. ‘I’m not a pirate,’ she said.

‘I didn’t think you were,’ Brigitte said. But then she added, ‘Thank you for telling me,’ and, improbably, the first building block of trust slid into place between them.

Just before they hit the tree line, Hana said, ‘Thank you for saving my life again.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Brigitte smiled, and Hana smiled back, and Bunny beeped something from the back seat.

‘No, I do _not_ ,’ Hana said, and at the same time Brigitte laughed, and then there was a warning light flashing on the control panel and the easy mood washed away in a fraction of the time it had taken to build. ‘What’s that?’

‘Proximity alert around the house,’ Brigitte said, and the tension was there again, so abruptly Hana thought perhaps she’d imagined all the camaraderie that had come in between. ‘Get in the back. There’s a tarp under the seat. If they see either of you…’

And so it happened that Hana found herself face down on worn plastic cushions, a heavy duty tarp obscuring all light save the tiny, faint glow of Bunny’s optical sensor, helpless and unarmed for the second time that day.

‘Boss wants to know where you’ve been.’ The voice was distinctly mechanised: a droid? Or a species that couldn’t speak Basic naturally?

‘None of her business.’

‘Don’t take us for fools, Lindholm. We know you got to the X-Wing before we did.’

Brigitte snorted, and the derision in her voice was utterly at odds with the woman Hana had come to know. ‘So what? I left it right where I found it. All for you. Waste of perfectly good parts, but I know the rules.’

‘You didn’t call it in.’

‘It wasn’t exactly subtle coming down. Didn’t think I needed to.’

‘The pilot?’

‘Gone by the time I got there.’

‘And the astromech?’

‘Ejected. Could be anywhere. Is there something you’re planning on accusing me of?’

‘Boss wants—’

‘I’m _tired_ ,’ Brigitte said loudly, ‘of hearing about your boss. If she wants to tell me something, she can come do it herself. If not, you and I both know you don’t dare touch me. So why don’t you just leave me alone? I’ve had a long day _minding my own business_.’

‘Careful, Lindholm. Your father can only protect you so much.’

The ensuing silence was so complete Hana began to wonder if she’d blacked out somehow and missed the rest of the conversation. Her hand crept around Bunny’s side, looking for the right compartment by touch, and there came a slight click as Bunny caught on and her fingers wrapped around the handle of her spare blaster—

‘My father isn’t the one _protecting_ me,’ Brigitte said, and the animosity in her voice made Hana freeze. ‘Now _leave_.’

Ten minutes after she heard the tell-tale sounds of a speeder departing, Hana judged it safe to come out. She found Brigitte standing stock still, staring at the ground, trembling. Before she could ask herself what she was doing, Hana had come up behind Brigitte and wrapped her arms around her. It seemed an absurd gesture—she was half a foot or more shorter, her arms spindly things in comparison to Brigitte’s—but a moment later Brigitte’s hands found hers and they stood for several long seconds, silent and unmoving.

‘Are you all right?’ Hana said at last.

‘No,’ Brigitte whispered.

‘Is there—is there something I can do to help?’

It was the sort of question anyone would have been expected to ask, and Hana wasn’t entirely sure if she meant it. But then Brigitte’s hands tightened around hers, and Hana remembered the easy kindness with which Brigitte had treated her, and she remembered the hard, angry tension as Brigitte had faced down the unseen interloper, and she knew which of those things she’d rather see again.

And so, when Brigitte said ‘Yes,’ there was really only one thing to say in reply.

‘Okay. What do we need to do?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! We should be picking up some steam here, plotwise, which means we might be losing some steam, update-speed-wise, because I have to think of what exactly happens next. (This is about 20% plan, 80% writing by the seat of my pants.) Hopefully it will all work out. :)


	7. Holding It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hana and Brigitte plan their escape.

‘We have to go. Not this instant, but we need to be ready.’

‘Go where?’ Hana was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Brigitte throw clothes into a pile seemingly at random.

‘The settlement. The one I mentioned earlier.’

‘The pirate base? That seems suicidal, even for me.’

Brigitte paused for a moment. ‘It’s not _just_ a pirate base. But,’ she allowed, ‘yes. That one.’

‘Isn’t that where the guy you—where those people were from?’ _The guy you shot._ Something in Hana rebelled at the thought of saying the words out loud.

Brigitte turned to face her. ‘All right. Let me give you the rundown. The man in charge of Edelaar never comes down to the surface. He’s got some kind of capital ship in orbit, and he never leaves. So, instead, there are a dozen groups down on the surface who do his work for him. The more respectable ones are on the far side of the planet. The _less_ respectable ones are here. Four or five of them, in total, and all they operate out of that one settlement. And only _one_ of those groups, the Deadlock Gang, care about me in the slightest. See?’

Hana was nodding along. She’d imagined something like a military base, but a whole settlement? That was different. ‘You think it’ll be safer there.’

‘Right. Out here, there’s just you and me. If they find you, they’ll know I’ve been hiding something. But if we go there, you’re just another person. They don’t know what you look like.’ Brigitte paused. ‘At least, I hope they don’t.’

‘Thanks. That’s very reassuring.’

Brigitte ignored her and went back to her packing. ‘Once we’re there, we’ll have a much better chance of stealing a ship and getting off this planet.’ She hesitated. ‘Can you fly a freighter? Or a shuttle? Something like that?’

Hana fixed her with her best _who do you think you’re talking to_ look. ‘I can fly _anything_.’ And then she added, ‘What?’, because Brigitte had covered her mouth with her hand in a way that looked distinctly like she was trying not to laugh.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just… Do they teach you that in flight academy? Is there a module in Cockiness?’

Hana opened her mouth to protest, but instead something like a sob escaped, and she leaned against the doorframe, mortified, eyes shut tight to hold back the sudden prick of tears.

Brigitte crossed the space between them in two steps. ‘Hey. Hey. I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?’

‘No,’ Hana said, and her fists were clenched and she wanted to rage at her own weakness, because she’d been holding up so well, and why should this happen _now_? She _hated_ it. She hated breaking down in front of someone else, never mind a relative stranger. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘There was a—a girl in my squadron. Lena. We’d make fun of her, say she must’ve been top of her class in cockiness, and I guess… I don’t know. It made me think of…’

Brigitte’s touch was light and hesitant on Hana’s arm. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘Come on. Sit down for a minute.’

Hana let herself be led to the bed, and when she sat, it was as if her mind registered the softness beneath her as some place safe, and this time the tears were inescapable. ‘I don’t even know if they’re still _alive_ ,’ she said, her voice catching on that last word, and Brigitte wrapped a tentative arm around her. ‘And if they are, they probably think _I’m_ dead, and I—I thought I was a _soldier_ , but today was the first time someone ever drew a blaster on me, and… It’s stupid. I’ve flown in combat a dozen times. I can do that. But this felt… different. I thought I was brave. But I’m not. Not really.’

‘You’re scared, Hana,’ Brigitte said. ‘That’s all. _No-one_ is invincible, and everyone learns that at some point, and it’s _terrifying_. But you’re trying. And you’re not giving up. That’s the important thing, right?’

‘Why are you…’ Hana swallowed back a sob and tried again. ‘Why are you helping me?’

‘Because I _know_. I had that moment, too, when I… when I first got here. I thought I was going to be a hero. But that’s not how it turned out.’

Hana turned her head sideways, and it felt perfectly natural to hide her face in the crook of Brigitte’s shoulder, and finally she felt like she could ask the simplest question of them all: ‘Why do I trust you?’

Brigitte’s fingers brushed over the bacta patch covering Hana’s side, firmly enough to make her shiver, but not hard enough to hurt. ‘For the same reason I trust you, I think. Secrets or no secrets, you’ve been more honest with me than anyone has in… well, a long time. And honesty counts. You saw me earlier, outside. I’ve learnt how to act to get by. I know how to handle the Deadlock Gang. But that’s not _honest_. It’s not me.’

‘No one can be brave all the time,’ Hana whispered. ‘I didn’t really understand until now. Courage is about lying to yourself a little bit. And no one can lie to themselves all the time. That’s what you’re talking about.’

Brigitte didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to. Maybe it hadn’t been exactly what she’d been talking about—but that wasn’t the important thing. It was the synchronisation that mattered, like fighters flying in formation: the shape of their thoughts the same if not the exact content.

And with that realisation came the first surge of guilt, because Brigitte’s secrets _weren’t_ secrets. Not all of them. Hana knew more about her than vice versa, and the imbalance sat heavy on her conscience. And still she shied away from the truth: she couldn’t take the risk, didn’t want to know if Brigitte was her father’s daughter. Not yet. And so, instead, she said: ‘Should we leave?’

Brigitte leaned away and looked down at Hana, as if trying to tell if she was truly ready to move on. ‘Not yet,’ she said eventually. ‘If we leave now, we’ll arrive in the middle of the night. That would look suspicious.’

Hana frowned. ‘So we’re going to wait until morning?’

‘It’s a risk, I know. But this isn’t the first time someone has paid me a visit. They always suspect I’m up to something, but if they actually knew I was sheltering you it would be different. I think we can afford one night.’

Hana considered arguing the point, but if she was going to trust Brigitte, it would be downright stupid to assume she knew better than the other woman. She’d been on Edelaar two days. Brigitte had been there—how long, exactly? She’d made it sound like months, at least. ‘Okay.’ Hana yawned. ‘I could use some sleep.’

Brigitte elbowed her, gently. ‘ _I_ did all the sawing.’

‘Yeah, and I’m convalescing.’ There it was again, the same easy banter she’d shared with her squadmates: but that was a safer thought now, not as raw. They might be dead—she understood that, intellectually, but if they were alive they almost certainly thought _her_ dead, and it did none of them any good if she, too, assumed the worst. Until proven otherwise, Hana decided, she would assume her friends were alive.

‘I’ll get out of your way.’

‘No, stay,’ Hana said, and almost immediately felt self-conscious.

‘Are you sure?’ Brigitte said, and it was good, Hana thought, that she didn’t reject the idea out of hand. ‘It’ll be cramped, and with your side…’

Best to double down. ‘I’m more worried about my mental health right now. And I’ve always slept better sharing a bunk.’ Hana shrugged. ‘Up to you.’

Brigitte’s eyes reflected the glare of the ceiling lights as she studied Hana. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘If you’re sure.’

And Hana smiled, and her heart beat faster in a rhythm she told herself was nothing but relief.

*

When she woke the next morning, cramped and rested, Hana was alone but for the lingering warmth where Brigitte had slept. She had time for only a moment of regret, though, before the shrill, rhythmic beeping of Bunny’s wake-up protocol washed all thoughts away.

‘I’m _awake_ ,’ she said. ‘And I don’t recall asking you to wake me up.’ Bunny’s warbling grew distinctly satisfied. ‘Oh, you’re listening to her now?’ Hana levered herself out of bed, stretched the kinks out of her shoulder, and yawned. ‘Yes, I know _I’m_ listening to her, but you’re—yes, _Bunny_ , I know you’re an independent droid, but you’re still—’

She became aware that Brigitte was in the doorway, watching them with no little amusement. ‘Come on, Emthree,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you settled in the speeder.’

‘Traitor,’ Hana muttered and reached for her clothes.

One hour into their journey the sky finally lightened to something resembling day. ‘Can I ask you something?’ Brigitte said from the driver’s seat.

‘Go for it.’

‘Did you grow up on ships?’

Hana whipped her head around to look at her. ‘How did you know?’

‘I was trying to figure out why you’d be used to sharing a bunk. It made sense.’ Brigitte spared Hana a quick look. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.’

Hana sighed. ‘Let’s put it this way. The Republic Navy wouldn’t take a fourteen year old pilot. The Outer Rim racing circuits were less discerning.’

‘You were a _racer_?’

‘Four years.’ Hana let a little arrogance into her voice. ‘Top human three years running. Top overall in my last season.’

‘And that wasn’t illegal?’

‘Of course it was _illegal_. But I was good, and everyone pretended not to notice how shaky my documents were.’

‘What did you fly?’

‘A-Wing. One of the old RZ-1s, modified to within an inch of its life.’ Hana grinned. ‘I had it painted bright pink. I miss that. For some reason they won’t let me paint my X-Wing in the—’ Her mouth snapped shut. A shiver ran through her. She’d been so close to saying _the Resistance_ , and would that have been so bad? She’d thrown her lot in with Brigitte, what did it matter? _No. She might think she knows who I am. But I can’t risk her being wrong._

‘Maybe we should talk about something else,’ Brigitte said softly, and Hana nodded her agreement.

They talked about nothing else until the outskirts of the nameless settlement appeared on the horizon and that very namelessness prompted to Hana to ask, ‘What do people call this place?’

Brigitte shrugged. ‘Town. Base. Home. Whatever it means to them, I guess.’

‘And you… know people here? Where are we going?’

‘Yeah,’ Brigitte said. ‘I know someone. I just hope he’s here.’

Hana left it at that. The nameless city swallowed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I said plot, but then I got distracted by feelings and back story. Plot next time.


	8. Interlude: McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jesse accepts a job from an old friend.

It’s a cold day in Mos Espa, which is to say it’s a hotter day than he’s ever experienced on any other planet, and Jesse wouldn’t admit it even with a blaster pointed at his head, but a decade spent in more temperate climes has eroded his ability to withstand the heat. That’s why he’s sitting at the very back of the cantina, in the dimmest, coolest booth there is, sipping from a glass of something nameless.

That and the fact that it’s the only table from which he can see the door.

The door which is just now sliding open, and for a moment he can hear the sounds of the street outside, the lowing of dewbacks and the hum of a passing swoop gang, and even from across the room the daylight makes him squint. Then the door closes again, only now there’s a figure on the inside of it, and by the time his eyes re-adjust, she’s already halfway to his table.

‘Bit early for the heavy liquor, ain’t it?’ she says, sliding into the seat opposite him.

‘You know me, Ashe. Never was the refined type.’ Jesse shifts casually in his seat and undoes the catch on his holster. It’s not that he expects violence—but the only way to have a comfortable conversation with Ashe is to know you have the draw on her, if it comes to that, and even then the comfort is scant. ‘Where’s Bob?’

‘Keepin’ watch outside. You know how these provincials are about droids.’

‘Careful, Ashe, your rich blood’s showing.’

Ashe scoffs. ‘Like you didn’t blow this miserable excuse for a planet first chance you got.’ She taps two fingers on the edge of the table. ‘Can’t help but note you don’t seem awful surprised to see me.’

‘Had an inkling someone might be droppin’ by. Didn’t know I still rated a personal visit, mind.’

‘Old times’ sake, Jesse. And speaking of old times’ sake’—she pauses as the bartender appears by the table, then fixes him with such a withering look he departs before he can so much as open his mouth—‘I’ll get to the point. Got a job might benefit from your expertise.’

Jesse fishes a cigar out of a pocket, takes his time lighting it, and takes a puff. ‘Not my line of work any more,’ he says at length.

‘Course it ain’t. But I’m after a person, this time, and I need me a bounty hunter.’ Ashe meets his gaze. ‘And the way I hear it, that _is_ your line of work these days.’

‘Don’t know what you mean. This is Mos Espa. We’re all of us fine, upstanding citizens out here. Seems to me you might be wantin’ Mos Eisley.’

‘Cut the crap,’ Ashe says. Her voice hasn’t changed, but Jesse knows full well how quickly that measured drawl can turn into something darker. ‘You’re always runnin’, Jesse, and you’re gonna run yourself out of a life one o’ these days.’

The words sting more than he cares to admit. ‘I didn’t _run_. I _left_ , once I realised what I was involved with.’

‘Mighty principled. Sure is convenient how that realisation always came just as the going got tough.’

Jesse flicks ash off the end of his cigar. ‘What do you want?’

Ashe spreads her arms. ‘Just wanted to offer you a job. But if you’re not interested…’

She’s halfway out of her chair when Jesse says, ‘Wait.’

‘Ain’t got all day,’ Ashe says, and she doesn’t sit back down yet.

‘Tell me. What’s the job?’

Now she sits, and her smile is a dangerous thing. ‘Here’s how it is,’ she says, and she tells him.

Afterwards, Jesse lingers over his drink, thinking. Then he drops a pair of credit chips on the table and leaves, and even in the late afternoon the walk back to the spaceport is an uncomfortable one.

Once he’s back on his ship he sits at the comms console and opens up a channel. There’s the usual wait, but Jesse recognises that the man on the other end can’t drop everything to answer his call, and he doesn’t mind waiting.

He’s halfway to a nap, feet up on the console, when the reply finally comes through: ‘It worked?’

‘It worked.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Trust me. She fell for it.’

A few seconds’ silence. ‘I appreciate you doing this for us, McCree. I know you have… legitimate grievances with the Republic.’

Jesse snorts. ‘Legitimate grievances? Time was you’d call them what they were.’

Morrison’s voice grows stiffer. ‘I’m trying to thank you.’

‘I ain’t doing this for you.’

‘I don’t give a damn who you’re doing it for, McCree, as long as it works.’

Jesse can’t help but smile. ‘That’s more like it,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll work.’ He reaches for the comms switch and cuts off Morrison mid-response.

Then he lights another cigar and begins to plan the kidnapping of Torbjörn Lindholm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a bit distracted with a different project the last couple of days, so here's a slightly shorter interlude! It has plot, though, so I don't feel too bad, and once I finish that other thing, normal service should be resumed!
> 
> (This chapter brought to you by: a list of Ashe's voice lines, which I stared at several times trying to decide if she'd say things one way or another.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little worried that no one else will be interested in this AU, but we all like Star Wars, right? Right??
> 
> Knowing my own work ethic, I'm taking a bit of a risk by starting to post this before it's finished, but I think I'm more likely to finish if I do go ahead and post it! What a conundrum. If you'd like to see more, I'd love it if you took the time to leave a comment! I love hearing what people think, especially on an ongoing work, and I cannot overstate how motivational it is to know that people are engaged. :)
> 
> And if anyone is interested, you can find me on Twitter (@fuhadeza)! I don't tweet much but am always happy to chat!


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